


Jojo's Bizarre Ark

by Mehofkirkwall



Category: ARK: Survival Evolved, ジョジョの奇妙な冒険 | JoJo no Kimyou na Bouken | JoJo's Bizarre Adventure
Genre: Alternate Universe, Because this au wouldn't leave me the hell alone, Crossover, Everyone who died at some point is gonna live in dino land, Gen, well most of them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-16
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-01 02:24:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13988502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mehofkirkwall/pseuds/Mehofkirkwall
Summary: All kinds of people wash up on the Ark, no idea how they got there from their every day lives. Many die there; what many don’t do is die to get in.When a strange man with a star birthmark arrives on The Island, he tips the routine of survival for Kris-- the lord of Hell Island-- on it's head. As much as he is surprised by the Ark, she finds herself just as surprised by the Joestars.Ark and JJBA typical violence, but nothing overly graphic. Think Jurassic park level. More characters will be added as i write them in.





	1. The Survivor

Living on The Island-- and it _was_ a capital “T” capital “I” – was about a very short list of things.  
  
Loyalty; to tribe, your animals, your alliances, or simply to yourself. Adjustment; to pretty much everything. Survival; be it finding food, clean water, a safe place to rest your head, or most importantly– not being eaten by the various creatures that inhabited it and the waters surrounding.

Those who washed up on the shore had either moments or hours to adjust to the fact that nothing short of blood, sweat, and tears was required of them. That their previous lives, no matter how beloved, were over and their new lives-- running, hunting, hiding-- were the new hardship. That literally nothing was the same, and yet it was just the same as it had always been through history.

Those that adjusted, lived how they could. Those who did not, became food for whatever chose to eat their corpse.

That was not always a hungry dinosaur.

The natural world of The Island was not the only danger-- rival tribes fighting for control of resources, for land, or just roving marauders that saw nothing more in life than to hunt down gifts sent from heaven. Some tribes were peaceful, allowing their animals to keep enemies at bay, and supporting trade. They were the exception rather than the rule, however, and much of The Island was embroiled in constant war-- if not in deed, in malice and reputation. One tribe will feel differently than another, and at the same time agree on the third.

The one thing that the various inhabitants of The Island can agree about, without quarrel or contention, is that no soul owns Hell Island.

* * *

 

Dangerous, remote, and crawling-- figuratively and literally-- with the most ravenous predators the survivors have ever known. From the north eastern shore one could see swarms of Argentavis picking the corpses of giant scorpions and Rex alike, while herds of Raptors and Sabertooth bounded though the light tree line. Megalodon forced seafaring tribes to give the island chain a wide berth, let alone the mysterious red monsters shooting up from the depths to destroy boats with a passion, forcing them into shallows most tribes couldn’t pass. The Pearl Ears had managed to outpace some of the monsters of the deep surrounding the dead island, but they found no incentive to weather the dangers that awaited on land to explore it.

It is common knowledge among the north eastern tribes that years ago, the Hidden Lake sent a band of their best warriors to the sea, to determine if this Carnivore’s Island was a breeding ground for hostile dinos or simply one more of the Island’s tricks.

The party returned, reduced to only two survivors. They were both battered, but bandaged with cloth they didn’t bring with them. The two told their chief of a person, shoulders broad and eyes bright as gemstones, who had made the Dead Island their own.

The raft, loaded down with all the extra supply they would need for an extended expedition, had been rammed from below. A great, shield headed beast had rammed into one of the pontoons, sending the boat flying through the air only to come crashing down upended. The creature, screaming as it breached, then leaped from the ocean and slammed down onto the deck, it’s jaw barely fitting on deck as it made contact. The heavy wood of the ship buckled and split, sending all their supplies and their party into the deep. Luckily, the beast seemed content to continue destroying the vessel, ignoring them and thrashing. It was enormous, a Leedsicthys rivaling the brontos used for trade on the island, and bright bloody red. The original six had been tossed into the turning waves, lungs burning for air as they fought against the wake of the creature’s thrashing. Before they could process, get a breath in and regroup, a school of megalodon were on them. One of their number fought bravely against no less than three of the beasts, fists buffeting against rough skin and eyes while hunks of flesh were torn from him. Another made a desperate attempt to swim back to the mainland, only to have the air knocked from their lungs by a powerful swing of the Leedsicthys, the force propelling them down into deeper water. They did not resurface by the time the group splashed into the shallows.

Panicked and disoriented, the leader scanned the horizon with apprehension, the sounds of ravenous monsters in her ears. She found herself running headlong toward the towering stones that loomed over the island, reasoning that little on the ground would be able to touch them on a perch. The group, unable to find their way up while soaking wet and frightened, had instead vaulted into a hollow in the rocks just as the screech of a raptor pierced their ears. The screech was followed by two, three, and four more. The group pressed themselves as flat to the inner hollow as possible; some prayed, others were simply silent. The leader watched. Soon the sound of huffing breath was loud in their ears, a snout pushing partially into the opening. A strangled noise escaped one of their number as they shuffled back further. At the sound of their fear, the raptor shoved its head into the space, jaws snapping ineffectually in the air as it tried to reach them. Others joined it in seconds, all swarming the entrance and filling the small space with the smell of rotting meat, emanating from between their teeth.

The remaining explorers prayed and wept as they tried desperately to stay silent in the face of the predators slowly squeezing toward them. The leader began to wonder if they would be trapped until the beasts were too hungry to bother with an unattainable meal. On the mainland, they would have their troodon and be unconcerned with a battle of attrition, but not here. They had no food, as it was lost. They couldn’t forage after the raptors left, if only because they didn’t know where was relatively safe. They couldn’t make weapons without supplies and that, again would be dangerous. They may starve to death in a small cave, or be eaten attempting to swim home; she accepted this possibility. She also refused to allow it to be the only possibility. Summoning her courage, she’d struck out with a fist at a raptor and the blow sent it back from the opening. It did not return to the gap, but it’s absence allowed the others to squeeze in further. The leader repeated the blows over and over and over again, until eventually one faltered and fell limp.

Like raptors on the island, these responded by falling on their fallen companion, tearing it apart and squabbling over the pieces.

The leader motioned for the others to gather themselves, to exploit the lapse in their attack, only to watch in horror as a Carno swooped in and devoured the raptors. It’s beady eyes focused in on the opening between the rocks and it let out a spine chilling roar. It had less reach, the width of it’s head blocking the entrance, but this beast was more persistent. It took to bashing it’s head against the stone for what felt like hours, stumbling occasionally and shaking it’s head.

Silence fell as night did, though they dared not hope it was safe as the darkness shrouded both themselves and the predators lurking outside. The sound of fighting filled the night, a good distance from their hiding place, and the harsh rasp of the Carno’s breathing withdrew.

The group, tired and hungry, sneaked out into the night and scanned the area. It appeared to be safe, but little of the Island was trustworthy, let alone this part of it. They skirted the rock formation that had been their haven for the day, finding a steep, but not insurmountable rock formation. The leader motioned for the others to climb up it, and froze as a series of harsh growls slipped out of the night. The others scrambled up in a mad dash, the edges of the stone cutting into their hands and feet as they went. The top of the formation was small, but level, and the moonlight gave a clear view of their leader alternating between fighting and climbing. When she finally managed to mantle up to the top, she had sustained several very deep scratch and bite wounds across her back and thighs. Her people could do little more than staunch the bleeding using the clothes off their backs, promising her that she would make it.

One of their number volunteered to go down and attempt to harvest some narcoberry to apply to the wounds, something to ease her pain. The leader, in pain and rightfully afraid, told him not to do something so foolish. While the others focused on tending various injuries, he slipped from the rocks as he attempted to navigate them and made no sound after hitting the bottom with a wet, dull, thud.

Sleep, unsurprisingly, was unattainable and only the soft pinks and yellows of the rising sun allowed the group any solace. From on high, little seemed amiss; even predators must sleep at some point, they reasoned. Using what energy was left in them, the group made their way down the rocks to search for food and berries to apply to their leader. She had developed a fever overnight, skin hot and limbs weak, leaving her fit to simply be a look out as her thinned group scavenged below. However, after a short time, she began to lose herself in the fever and her vision blurred. In the blur and undergrowth, several dark bodies were unnoticed.

A series of velvet dark hisses surrounded those on the ground as the only warning, before a deep green stinger plunged into one of the gatherers. He’d stumbled, eyes vacant, and dropped what he carried while his breath hitched. A strangled gasp was his companions only warning as four more scorpions emerged from the undergrowth, pincers clacking and eyes glinting. The last one on the ground sped toward the rocks as her companion was swarmed, losing what she’d gathered and crying.

They were done for, she had decided, as she clung to her leader and attempted to wake her from her fever sleep. It was over, or would be once they had starved on this rock. Perhaps the leader would die of her injuries and leave her to die alone.

Then, through her sobbing, she heard something coming. Something _big_ , and by the sound of it ringing in her ears, something powerful.

Two gigantic Carnos came crashing over the island, each the size of a Rex and armored like walking fortresses. One carried a rider, small compared to the raging dinosaurs they commanded into the fray. In a flash, they took on the scorpions, the dinos shrugging off stings with such ease it was a wonder if they even noticed them. The rider deftly hopped to their feet in the saddle and let out a long, low whistle, before leaping to the ground and sprinting away.

The miracle, then, was from the sky. Strong talons gripped each woman by the shoulders and ripped them into the sky, the force causing them to cry out. Wing-beats battered them with turbulence, and the purpose with which they moved was awe inspiring. Bright war paint coated the feathers and heads of the animals, and bore a design like a star.

The pair of adventurers were then dropped roughly into an open topped building, bodies landing on what appeared to be long rolls of fabric, and groaning. The world spun around the duo as a low whistle floated through the air once more, followed by the tell-tale sound of an arrow flying. The leader lay unconscious as the other explorer scrambled to dislodge the arrow, feeling tranquilizer spreading through them.

The rider from earlier entered the building, chiding them in a rough and commanding voice, about landing on their island. They were force fed a dark red liquid, the rider gruffly telling them that they’d die otherwise. Under the tranquilizer, there was little argument. She had watched as the rider-- squared shoulders and serious expression on a square face-- felt the leaders forehead, before forcing a vial of viscus green fluid down her throat and stripped the make shift bandages off her wounds. The rider, working diligently with a bone needle and thread on the leaders wounds, demanded information from them. Who were they, where did they come from, why were they on the dead island.

To her shame, she’d babbled about what tribe they hailed from, their mission, and the people they’d lost. Tears came again and the rider pulled a rough spun cloth from their pocket to wipe her eyes. She remembered, through the haze as the tranquilizer began to fully set in, being told that crying was best done at home.

They had awoken to the sounds of dodo’s cooing, and the chattering of troodon. The rider had deposited them on one of the less watched rises near their village, laying them in a dodo pen.

The leader frantically touched their stitches and embraced their companion, and the two rushed to relay their report to the chief. His eyebrows had knit together as they relayed their tale, pondering the strength of someone who could live in those conditions. A decree was made that, should any of their number see this rider with the symbol of a star on their beasts, they should be rewarded.

Look-outs later informed him of sighting a pair of painted argentavis circling just outside of their borders, before taking off toward Carno island.

* * *

 

On Hell Island, a lone rider unsaddled her birds under the eaves of a weather beaten roof. Her boots are worn thin on the sole, the sides reinforced with aged leather, stitched on haphazardly. Pants hung torn ragged around powerful legs, and her coat seemed a bit too thin as it rested on her broad shoulders. A long veil of black hair poured out from where it was swept back under her deteriorating hat, tangled together here and there. She wiped the sweat from under her tired eyes with the back of her gloves.  
Trudging to the other end of her roof, she collapsed into one of the weather beaten benches tucked into a small enclosure facing out toward the sea.

Her name was Kris, no more and no less, a vague hiss of a name that she felt suited her. Kris was the master of this island, her subjects the bloodthirsty beasts that fought each other for the right to exist, and she was the unlucky kind of person that still possessed a thing called compassion. It truly was never in her interest to aid people who felt they could make it on their own, or who would infringe on her home turf with some idea of grand adventure. She did it all the same, though, to her own annoyance.

It was, Kris had once supposed as she pulled someone from the Writhing swamps, her lot in life to help the helpless as she found them-- or at least the ones that didn’t quite understand their situation.

When she had awoken on the Island, what felt like a lifetime ago, she was frightened. Alone, naked, and lost. Her hair was shaved to the scalp, a strange device in her wrist-- though it did not pain her, it was foreign. She had stumbled across the frozen beach, full of awe and terrible wonder, not knowing where she was. A blizzard had coated her in biting snow and her saving grace had come to her by chance; foot breaking through her improvised shelter and then a kind hand offering her a coat.

Perhaps that kindness was what kept the softness in her heart; perhaps her humanity just flatly refused to die in the face of the Island’s cruelty. She didn’t rightly know, but it lived on regardless.

Since then, many times, she has seen people in a similar situation-- she had also seen the people who fit effortlessly into their new home. The warlords and the hunters, the warriors and the travelers. She had seen the people who were weak die, seen the strong die just as well. The island didn’t discriminate. She had seen the useful and the useless slide down the gullet of monsters no man should ever see, let alone face in battle.

Kris felt sick now and then, pondering that while the Island forced them to survive it, they were determined not to survive each other.

It was best, she had reasoned eventually, to be alone with herself. To be assured of her abilities, to trust only herself and the creatures she had raised. Tamed creatures proved to be unpredictable on her little island, but less so than humanity when she did interact with them.

Still, while she wandered this no mans land, belonging to nothing and no one, she felt pity for the people who also belonged nowhere.

All survivors began the same, after all: Naked, afraid, alone.

It was a small kindness to rescue those she saw, and if she felt inclined to search for these people before they came to harm-- it was for herself, and not for them. It was her way of repaying the people who saved her, and nothing more. Mostly.

 


	2. A Survivor And A Gentlemen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pardon the dust while i edit ;u;

This day saw Kris boa hunting north of the Writhing Swamps– North of the Gulf of Lamentation, specifically– in hopes that she’d be able to make a fine set of new hide armor. Her last set was ragged after she had the misfortune of tangling with a Sarco on foot. The chest piece had been shredded and it felt odd wearing mismatched armor. While she could have used the hide of creatures on her island, the idea of spending time to skin something of size while not looking at anything else was distinctly unappealing. Not that it was comforting to walk the swamps, it was at least easier to manage threats there.

Though her trusted Argentavis was perched in one of the treetops, she had a feeling of unease that she couldn’t shake as she looked into the muddy water. Leeches teemed in the waters here, and she was never quite sure how deep it ran between the muck and water. She really had no desire to find out, but in all honesty-- not knowing something made her more nervous than knowing.

Another thing that made her nervous, was the sheer number of Titanboa that were ardently refusing to fall for her baiting. Granted, for titanboa, all you really needed was to exist in the same area. She would see them swim through the water, as if they were about to come to her and attack, only for them to turn and climb into another tree.

It was very, very strange, but animals had their patterns. They were preparing for something.

A rumble blossomed from the sky above-- not a predator, nothing made that sort of noise, but something much more dangerous. Not for her, but for the contents of the noise. The tell tale bright light of someone being thrown at the island followed shortly after, brightness blooming above and forming a beacon light that buried itself in the sand.

Perhaps thrown was the wrong word; It was similar to the way supply crates came down, though nowhere near as gently. The light would follow the sound, then another sound of something falling to the ground. If there was no wind, they fell straight down, and other times they fell in an arc. Granted, some did launch out of the ocean, hitting the sand and rocks with a dull thud before sliding a good few feet. These people usually woke up with more injuries that their implants had to rapidly heal post-awakening than others, meaning they were even more tired on their first day. Kris felt that was one of the worst ways to wake up, followed perhaps by being attacked by something, though she had seen rougher.

The landing was always more traumatic to observe than to go through, she supposed, bodies uselessly limp as their limbs whipped through the sand and then lay in a heap. Occasionally there was a bit of blood, but only when someone landed on more stone than sand. On a poor day, a local tribe might mistake an arrival for a cargo drop and swarm the person. That was almost worse to watch than the predators drawn to the flashing of their implants once the beacons died down.  
Kris never shared her observations of these deliveries, as few would believe that they weren’t either born there, or lost at sea in some accident. Some thought they crashed on a new planet– something Kris couldn’t really wrap her head around, honestly– but there she was. She much preferred the ones who couldn’t remember much at all; they tended to adapt much faster than the people clinging to who they used to be. Made it easier to get them to leave after being helped as well, though they were also much more prone to attacking her in response. It depended on the day, honestly.

As she watched, the bright white light streaked through the blue, the impact sending up a spray of water and mud. The light pulsed once or twice, strobe effect leaving bright spots in her eyes. That was always one of the worst parts-- the light drew predators after a few moments, curious about it as humans were, and it was a gamble on who got there first.

Before the flash could subside, she was heading toward it. Her pike remained at her side, mangrove roots slick under her boots, as she broke into a light jog-hop. She hadn’t really planned on helping someone today, and honestly if Yesterday couldn’t carry them and her, they might just be shit out of luck.  
Honestly, even if she could help them, the time they spent waking up might do them in.

The swamps were crawling with giant leeches, titanboas, sarcos– nothing someone should strictly wake up next to. Almost all of these were far and away faster than a person-come-shot put trying to see straight, let alone trying to figure out their circumstances. This close to the ocean, the Sarco were bigger and meaner, and the boas faster. Not a great spot to land, but some people were just fated to have bad luck.

It took a few moments of looking, and she was half sure they’d been eaten or sank, before she found the poor man half submerged by the roots of a tree.

The first thing that stuck her about him was the sopping head of blue curls stuck barely out of the water. Hair was, strictly speaking, uniformly sheered to the scalp on every new arrival she’d ever met-- though she hardly had time to ponder beyond noticing it. He was sinking a bit faster than your average person, brackish water climbing up his cheeks.

Though mostly underwater by the time she got down to haul him out, she could make out a thick neck and wide shoulders. Upon shifting him back and forth to dislodge him, she caught a strange mark on his shoulder, in the shape of a star. He was heavily muscled, with tough skin, from what she could tell of the few leeches already trying to find purchase and not being able to. Might be his saving grace, really. Hard to get swamp fever if they don’t spit in you. He also appeared to be rather tall, with most of his body already deep in the muck. It served as another deterrent for the leeches she could see, but the muck was going to quickly crush his lungs if she didn’t act fast and get him at least to waist depth.

“Shit, fuck, damn it.” She huffed, her arms sunk into the water, hooking under his and giving a mighty heave or two. He was much heavier than anticipated, or at least had gotten stuck in like a lawn dart. After a few moments of straining and only making it a few inches higher out of the mud, leeches swarming around her knees, she decided on a new tactic.

Kris loosed a coil of rope from her pack and wrapped a length of it around his body, under his arms, and started towing him toward a drier patch of ground. The leeches were getting only mouthfuls of cloth, but that would only save her for so long-- if a diseased and persistent one got under the fabric, they’d both be sunk. Hauling him this way was only slightly easier than just using her hands, swamp slick mud ruining her grip aside, and she eventually had to have Yesterday pull on this makeshift harness. Between the two of them, he came free with a sort of unappetizing sucking sound and some light shrieking from the leeches falling off of him. She ordered Yesterday to drop him on the sand far enough from the water and trees to have visibility while he came to. She rubbed gingerly at her back and stretched.

“Good grief.” She wiped her forehead with the back of her arm, only to scowl at the swamp scum that it smeared over her forehead. Letting out a string of quiet swears, she moved over and sat heavily on a rock with a sigh. Looking him over, he was just as tall as she assumed-- a slight bit taller than even that, actually-- and built like a tank. Aside of herself, not many people on the island were built that way unless they were bodyguards or fighters, and they worked on it while here, so maybe she wouldn’t have to help this guy so much. She toed him on the ground, boot pushing him onto his side, and frowning at the small amount of water that spilled out of his mouth. “Heavy as a sack of shit. Hope you’re not a dick, that could be a problem.”

Yesterday made a noise of agreement, eyeing the man on the ground, before resting it’s head on her shoulder. Kris gave him a pat and promised some nice kibble when they got home.

* * *

Jonathan Joestar had experienced several jarring things in the last few hours, as far as he was concerned. He was also only aware of about one eighth of them as he started to come around to consciousness. His head ached, his skin felt like he’d run afoul of sandpaper and tar, and his throat was burning. Something foul coated his nostrils and threatened to bring up whatever he had in his stomach, though it wasn’t much.

Kris, meanwhile, was in the middle of carefully separating the hide from the newest boa she’d killed waiting. She glanced up as he shifted on the ground.

As he groaned into consciousness, turning over in the muddy sand, he realized that what he was coated in was fragrant swamp mess. He coughed a few times, breathing labored as he moved, and some unpleasant smelling water coming up in place of phlegm. When he eventually looked up, blinking in the light, he was greeted with the sight of a woman in ragged clothes using a very large knife to skin a snake the length of a rugby pitch.

She seemed unperturbed by the blood slicking her knee, moving the knife in practiced strokes. A pile of similar skins sat next to her on the damp sand. A giant bird was eating scraps tossed to it, beak snapping them from the air before sliding them noisily down it’s throat.

Kris flicked her eyes up to where he was crouched, her hands yanking meat free from skin, then prying open the snakes’ mouth with her blade and a good amount of strength.

“Oh, so you managed to not die.” Her voice hit his ears as gravelly and unused, but there was a note of approval in it. “Good Job.”

“Wha- where am I? Who are you?” His head was spinning, brain in a fog that wouldn’t lift as he became aware of a slight burning in his left arm.

“What do you remember?” She hadn’t really looked up from popping the teeth out of the snake’s skull once he’d spoken, examining each stained bone with a critical eye. The question seemed like a bored aside, rather than a concerned inquiry. “Boat accident? Plane accident?”

He blinked while trying to find his feet, stance uneven as his feet sunk into the sand. He opened his mouth to respond, only to realize he wasn’t clothed beyond some small clothes, thin and much too revealing for his taste. Muck notwithstanding, he may well have been naked. He went red from his chest to his ears as he searched for something to hide behind.

“I- yes, but– Apologies, I don’t know where my clothes–”

“That happens.” She waved it off, but he didn’t seem to relax and shuffled behind a small tree that barely hid anything. She snorted at him and jerked her chin toward the large bird. “There’s a blanket in Yesterday’s bag.”

“In–”

“The bird.”

“Ah, my thanks, Miss.” After he’d managed to make himself somewhat decent, though not really to his standards, he looked around again, confusion returning. “Now, where are we?”

She ran the knife over the last bit of hide she was working on and started rolling it up along with a few others. Once she had a bedroll sized bundle, she stood and stowed the hide in another bag on the bird– which was eyeing him with more intelligence than he was comfortable with. “The Island.”

“The? Which island?” He frowned, trying to recognize any of it. Nothing was familiar, it was warm enough on his skin, but cold on his feet. “I don’t think I have ever been here…”

“No one has. Well, not on purpose.” She started pulling on the straps settled around the bird, like she was checking tack on a horse. “That’s why I asked if you were on a boat or something.”

“A ship wreck? I--”

She caught the look of horror flash across his face, his hands launching to his throat and feeling it experimentally. He breathed a few times, controlled and even in a way she wasn’t used to newcomers doing. As he breathed, his muscles relaxed and she could tell he was settling himself. Taking stock of his body. That was the time he noticed the bright metal diamond embedded in his wrist, glowing orange and occasionally flashing blue. He gripped it tightly and his eyes narrowed, memories rocketing to the surface.

“Dio! Did he--”

“Who?”

“He was trying to kill me.” He frowned, eyebrows knitting together, and not noticing the lack of reaction past a grunt. “I was in a ship, it was going to explode. He was trying to murder everyone aboard and had nearly succeeded. I told my wife to take a child that had survived and run, I don’t… I thought I…”

Kris made a low hum in the back of her throat, it was best he get the panic over with now. His eyes flashed up toward her, face searching.

“Have you seen a woman with blond hair? She’s about this tall, has the bluest eyes–”

“Is she good at killing things?”

“What?” The question, and the cold tone, threw him and he instantly shook his head. “No– My Erina is a gentle soul, she isn’t–”

Kris stared into him, like she was peering into his soul to determine something. He almost felt as if he was facing down Zeppeli during a particularly intense training session.

“Then she is either dead, or not here.” The flatness to her voice cut off the noise of worry that bubbled up his throat. “If she survived she won’t be outside of a village. If she found a village, she has about forty percent chance of it not being full of murderers or cannibals. She has even lower a chance surviving alone against the creatures on this island. I suggest not thinking about her; you’ll have more nightmares than hope.”

“There’s more hope of her being alive than myself, and yet here I am--”

“No.” She let out a noise that sounded vaguely like a snarl and brought up a finger. “This is an island of strangers. Forget who you were, who you knew, because it no longer matters. You are a survivor now, and anyone you knew before are just distractions.”

He was about to question, to demand to know the reason for her bitter and cold certainty, when a thundering roar shook the trees. It filled his heart with an inexplicable terror, and he shot a look at Kris, who shared the expression of horror. The ground began to shake and suddenly Kris was moving. She hurriedly slung her leg over Yesterday with one fluid motion and held out a shaking hand, eyes wide and concerned.

“Get on, or die.”

“The bird–”

“Can handle it. Choose fast.”

He later apologized sincerely and many times over, for clinging onto her so tightly once Yesterday launched skyward, climbing almost vertically with a screech. The bird seemed as unnerved as they both felt, stuttering mid-air while it grew accustomed to their combined weight on the fly. A yell for speed escaped Kris and he took a moment to glance back, only to catch sight of a monster. Bigger than a house, thick as a carriage, covered in blood streaked feathers, and roaring so loudly his ears prickled in pain. It was flanked by similarly sized beasts, who lent their screams to it as they ran near into the sea after them.

“What in gods name is that?”

“A Yuty!”

“What–”

“Welcome to the Island, boyo!”

* * *

They flew with eye stinging speed once Yesterday evened out, and Kris steered north west to light upon a mountain. The bird huffed on landing and Kris jerked her head to tell him to get off. The air was chill, but they were on an outcropping low enough that they only shuddered slightly. Below them wandered other intimidating beasts, some trying to scramble up the mountainside before giving up on the steep slope.

The two of them settled onto some rocks as Yesterday pulled down chunks of meat from the pack on it’s chest. The bird seemed to be as weary as they felt, its feathers ruffling and anxious noises slipping out between the wet snapping noises of it feeding.

Kris had silently offered him a jar of berry paste and what appeared to be a bone spoon, along with another blanket and dampened a rag to get more of the swamp goo off of him. Jonathan took all of it gratefully, rubbing muck from his hands and face before settling in to prod at the paste. From his perch a few feet off, he could hear how uneven her breathing was in spite of her intently focused expression. She was doing her best to keep together as she calmed down, working through a piece of jerky to keep focused.

“Thank you.” His thanks seemed to amuse her, a snort coming out over the hunk of jerky she was working through. At this elevation he began to process that he really was somewhere he’d never heard of, let alone read about, and he honestly wondered if it was actually real. Strange spires in the distance rose into the sky, bright lights shooting through them, and not seeming to be connected to anything. Smoke billowed out of one of the central mountains and giant reptilians flew through the sky. Below them, more great lizards stalked through the trees and some with great long necks stripped trees of their foliage.

They sat there a while, eating in silence. The berry slurry gave him an odd feeling of energy while also tasting delicious and sweet-- he tucked away the thought to ask what it was later. He studied Kris a moment while she, in a rather unladylike way, guzzled down a jar of water. He cleared his throat to get her attention. “We haven’t been properly introduced– with everything-- I apologize. My name is Jonathan. Jonathan Joestar.”

She nodded, corking the jar and placing it down. After a moment she stuck out a moderately bloody hand, which he took and was surprised when she shook it hard enough that he almost slid off his rock.

“Kris. Nice to see some manners. Usually someone would have tried to kill me for my bird by now.”

He wondered if simply not trying to harm someone was considered being polite, here. He would have to find out.

“Are people you save usually that rude?” He seemed so genuine about that question it almost hurt to answer him.

She let out bark of a laugh. “You have no idea, Joestar.”


	3. New Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pardon my editing

Kris tried, operative word  _tried_ , to convince Jonathan to take some supplies from her and make a go of it toward one of the nearby tribes after she explained that the implants weren't harmful and as much of the island as she felt he needed to survive.

She laid out that the Pearl Ears always needed strong arms to guard caravans, the Far-Sights would always welcome miners, and the Wolves always needed workers. She flatly relayed the pros and cons of each recommendation, pushing on through his protests.

The stand off ended with him respectfully requesting he stay with her and repay her for being rescued. She insisted it was nothing, just something she felt needed doing-- and it was his choice to fly away from the Yuty, anyway-- and didn’t need to be repaid. Jonathan wore her down, insisting that she could find some use for him, even if it was a small use. They eventually found themselves crossing north, back toward her home, though not without a good deal of put upon sighing.

Now that there was no terror coursing through their souls, it was easier for Jonathan to take in the view-- even if he had to peer over Kris’s broad shoulders sometimes. He really was not used to her, but he supposed he’d have time to get there.

Flying around the mountain they’d perched on, and then over the northern forest was an experience. The green of the treetops was so rich and deep, shifting this way and that from the movement of large beasts on the forest floor. He wondered aloud about the size of the giant turtles that were wandering the beaches, and exclaimed in glee at the shoals of Ichthy swarming along the surface.

The shining waves they flew over made him think of his fateful trip with Erina, his fingers shifting uncomfortably over where their wedding ring should rest. He hoped, deeply, that him being here and not burned-- as far as he could tell, at any rate-- meant that perhaps this was purgatory and Erina had made it away in time. It would make sense, he supposed, if perhaps this was his afterlife. Punishment for coveting the attention his father heaped upon Dio, for being so prideful that he thought Dio was truly dead-- perhaps it was punishment for killing his adopted brother, even if he deserved to die. Even if he was a damned creature. Jonathan decided, as they circled the small sub island Kris called home, that he didn’t regret it.

He only regretted that he had not found and destroyed every scrap of Dio, so that this wouldn’t have happened.

“We’re coming down.” Kris’s voice shook him into focus and he managed to actually take in the island she was steering down into.

Honestly, the sheer number and size of the scorpions he could see from the air was unsettling. He was also reasonably sure he’d boxed with men smaller than some of the other creatures he saw running toward the bird’s shadow. The creature they fled from was several orders smaller, he realized, than a few of the creatures that sent up equally fierce screams toward them as the lost altitude. He would have been much more concerned if there wasn’t a roof when she referenced the ground, though it took a moment to see it.

The walls of the compound were staggered along one of the flower-petal like arrangements of stone outcroppings, that alternatively formed small cliffs or jutted up high enough into the air he felt he could have reached out and touched them as they flew past. The walls were higher on the sides than on the cliff-side, the building itself serving as a barrier on that end. It’s ceiling slanted on one side and the other stood open, forming a sort of aviary where he could see a few others of the large birds resting. Not far off was a two story rectangular building with a half open roof, though they were now coming in to land too quickly for him to get too many details.

Landing on Yesterday was, and he supposed would continue to be, an interesting affair-- though this landing was infinitely less concerning than the one on the mountainside. He had to fairly cling to Kris to stay upright, if only because he didn’t know how tightly to hold on with his thighs and he wasn’t going to risk trying when they were landing. She proceeded to laugh at his noise of unease as Yesterday landed on the railing, and again when the bird hopped down before walking forward into a stall.

“Go by the railing and wait, I have to unload everything from Yesterday and feed the rest.” Kris instructed as they dismounted. Jonathan protested slightly before catching the gaze of the other four giant birds from where they were nested. Each was painted in different colors, in different patterns, though stars featured prominently. The paint was mainly on their foreheads and chest, though one or two had paint on their legs. Red, black, and yellow eyes peered deeply into him-- reminding him uncomfortably of the hungry zombies he’d battled in Dio’s castle. Not so much because he mistrusted these animals, but because there was the same hardness to their eyes.

While the prospect of giant flying mounts felt very fantastical and exhilarating, he was still unnerved by the fact they seemed to eat like wolves. He attempted to ignore the flock and the wet slopping sound of unfathomably large chunks of meat that were first pulled from Yesterday’s packs and then sloughed into feeding troughs before the other imposing beasts, primarily by turning to the courtyard and trying not to hear it happening.

The space between the house and the wall was far less than the front walk way of his old manor house had been, but just about as wide. A stone and mortar fence kept in what looked like a number of sheep-- he was grateful that something normal seemed to be present-- and was closed with a shoddy looking gate. A wide well with a large bucket sat between the apparently unfinished house and this one, stone pipes snaking out of it to both homes. A decent sized garden filled the southern side of the yard, fenced off with low walls similar to the sheep pen, and apparently full of produce. A great shining gate-- he assumed it to be metal, but much more sturdy than simple iron-- stood facing the interior of the island, barred with no less than three giant slabs of stone that appeared to be linked to a complicated series of cogs and gears. A catwalk and safety railing ran around the top of the wall, though he couldn’t readily see how one would reach it.

“Are we expecting a siege?” He asked as he felt a presence by his side and then jumped slightly as he caught sight of hands wringing blood from a shirt. “What in-- Oh!”

Jonathan covered his eyes quickly and turned an about face as Kris blinked slowly at him, shirt still held over the side. She tried very mightily to imagine what he could possibly be responding to as red spattered down the wall.

“What?”

“You’re topless!”  
“Yes that is usually what happens when someone takes off their shirt to clean it.” She seemed vaguely bemused, processing his complaint. “You know I’m not naked, right? You won’t burst into flame because you can see that I’m washing a shirt.”

“It’s improper! I’m a married man, alone on an island with a woman I don’t really know--” He chanced a glance back toward her as he heard her burst into rolling laughter. He looked like he was scolding her as he continued, seemingly forgetting the whole turning of the gaze, and it made her laugh harder. She was half leaned against the railing and trying to breathe as he all but shook his finger at her. “This isn’t funny! Think of what someone might think of this!”

“Oh my-- Johnny boy, no one is here to think anything of it! And if there were, I think the monsters outside would be a bigger concern.” She turned away, though, so he could take a breath or two, and started toward the stairs. “Let’s get inside and we can both get descent or what have you. There’s some extra robes you can wear in the guestroom until you can make yourself something.”

“I don’t think you’re taking me seriously.”

“Nope!” She grinned broadly, all crooked teeth and mischief, from the doorway. “Besides, if you’re going to insist on staying, might as well get used to it.”

* * *

If the aviary had felt warm, the inside of the house felt decidedly cozy. Not only due to the roaring fire, which he was told was on the floor lower, that radiated heat through the whole space, but the very structure of it felt very… contained. Safe.

Bolted shutters ringed the whole of the room, hanging open in some cases to reveal thick panes of glass, around what Jonathan would be told later was the dining room. Additional light was provided by small lanterns full of burning powder. A great, wide table sat on a rough woven rug, surrounded by five slightly uneven wooden chairs. A recess in the wall provided space for what appeared to be a ramshackle oven with a stove surface atop it, the chimney sweeping up through the wall and out. A series of armoire type of cabinets flanked this recess. One he found to contain a wealth of stoppered bottles, filled with all manner of colored liquids. Another was full of jars of dried herbs, all labeled in stick thin hand. The thinnest contained an assortment of cooking utensils and cutlery, along with a book of recipes in the same handwriting as the labels.

The walls were all stonework, rising well above his head, though the doorways he could see were all just slightly smaller than Kris’s height and he had to duck going in and out of the room that had been designated as his. Aside of the stairs going to the aviary, and the door leading into a room he assumed belonged to Kris-- sized appropriately--there were two others he found to be locked.

He’d taken to wandering from the main room and said bedroom partially out of restlessness, and partially out of the fact he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with himself while Kris was in her room.

Jonathan’s new quarters—the former guestroom, as Kris had informed him – was spartan in several senses of the word.

The bed was a basic square mattress-- handwoven cloth stuffed with something-- and several tanned animal furs layered over-top. The pillow was more of a thick roll of leather, covered over with the soft fur of an animal sewed on as a case. His blanket was a bit nicer, a thick and surprisingly non-scratchy woolen article dyed purple. A small chest of drawers held several more blankets, some rough brushes and washcloths, a spacious robe that had one sleeve shorter than another. He thought perhaps the person who made it, Kris he imagined, hadn’t paid enough attention to the measurements. There were also a few jars of water, stoppered with cork, on a bedside table that also held a small jar of the red powder, and a hooded lantern. A small basin rested on the chest of drawers, but there was not mirror in sight.

Washing up had been less ceremonious than he’d have liked, rough cloth dipped in the basin, but at least he no longer smelled of swamp-- honestly, that itself was a godsend. It stuck in his nose and showed itself when he breathed a certain way, but it was well on the way to gone.

Eventually he settled into one of the more even chairs in the main room and waited for his new friend to emerge.

It was not a long wait after all his wandering, and she strode into the room wearing a new set of spun clothes-- a simple tunic and belted pants over yet another pair of worn boots. Her hair was pulled into a sloppy braid that looked as if she’d accidentally pulled one of the loops out of during the execution.

“Ok, first things first--” She collapsed into the closest free chair and rubbed at her eyes. Jonathan noticed the deep lines under her eyes as she slid her hands down and propped her chin on her knuckles. It would explain the demeanor, honestly. “What do you know how to do?”

“I know how to fight, I'm alright with a sword though I’m better with my fists-- I used to box in a local club. I know how to swim, though that seems lower on the list of applicable skills at the moment.” She made a humming noise that let him know he may be incorrect. “I’m a quick study, on most subjects.”

A pause.

“I must apologize, I don’t really know what would be of use.”

“Well,” Kris rubbed her face again. “Swimming is actually very good-- in less dangerous areas, you could collect pearls or fish. Out here it’ll be the difference in speed that keeps you out of a shark’s belly, or worse. Fighting in any way is useful-- I'm guessing you know how to fight people and not giant lizards with a sword, but I can always teach you that part. Learning fast is good, too. Even tried and true things can be useless if you don’t know what to do with them. You go to school?”

“Yes!” Jonathan nodded enthusiastically. “I also had tutors. I was an aspiring archaeologist, myself.”

To his surprise, she perked up.

“Then boy, do you have a hobby awaiting you!” She gestured toward the door opposite the two of them and made a face that said she was less excited than she sounded. “There’s weird ruins and records all over this damn rock. But, again, hobby.”

He nodded.

“Can you sheer a sheep? Cook? Clean weapons or barnyards? Butcher meat?” The more Jonathan sheepishly shook his head, the more she searched for something. “Farm? Can you fell a tree quickly? Can you mine for ore? Hunt? Make maps?”

“I can hunt, yes!” He was honestly relieved to be able to find something in this list.

“With a bow, or a spear?”

His face fell as he thought on it, then brightened. “I can learn, if you’ll teach me. I sincerely wish to repay you, and if that means learning every chore and task you do-- I am willing to do it.”

“Alright, Joestar.” Kris leaned back in her chair and cocked an eyebrow. “Let’s see how useful you are in the morning, when you realize this isn’t a really messed up dream.”


	4. Breakfast and Learning

Jonathan woke up to the sound of a dog scratching at the door, the smell of fresh bread being baked, and someone humming.

He rolled over and nearly fell out of the rough-shod bed he had went to sleep in, the memory of the day before washing back over him as he sat up to look around. Nothing in the room had changed with sleep; light filtered through the window slats, and the air remained toasty. The floor was shockingly cold when his bare feet touched the stone, however, and he went searching through the chest of drawers for a set of socks. There were none to be found, sadly, though he did manage to find some strips of cloth that he wrapped haphazardly around his feet to make up for it.

Kris had mentioned the day before that the robe he was wearing now-- very much not enough to chase away the chill around his shins-- was temporary until he’d made himself something else. At the time it hadn’t quite sank in that he’d have to personally make himself trousers, or a shirt, or… In all honesty he had no idea where to start making shoes. Perhaps it would, for a while, be a learning experience on his end in ways he hadn’t anticipated.

He was brought out of his thoughts as the tell tale sound of a dog huffing at the bottom of his door resumed. It sounded quite like Danny against his bedroom door on days he’d closed it without thinking and denied the dog the ability to sleep on his feet. Jonathan was perhaps a bit too excited as the sleep worked out of his head enough to realize this meant Kris had a dog. That he could reasonably pet and play with. He celebrated this small area where he would have some former knowledge before going to open the door. The dog sounded rather large, and he hoped it was friendly.

“Mittens, be gentle.”

Jonathan processed Kris’s command with about the same speed with which a large furry body slammed directly into his chest. He didn’t go to the floor, which seemed to earn a sound of dismay from the writhing animal in his grip, and earned a sloppy lick across the face.

“My goodness--” Jonathan shifted the dog into position to be placed down, if only because the creature’s tail was walloping into his side with force. It turned in a circle before him, turning to stare up at him with it’s tongue hanging out. He knelt down and the dog jumped forward, large paws propping up on either of his shoulders before licking his face again. He ruffled the animals fur before taking a better look. “And what kind of dog are you?”

His grin was a mile wide as Kris snorted from the stove, watching this with more levity than he had assumed she could contain.

“Her name is Mittens. I’ve been raising her.” She turned back to whatever she was making on the stove. Whatever it was, it smelled warm and welcome against the chill of the morning. The dining room was a sight warmer than his room, though he presumed that was due to the door that stood open to the lower floor where the fireplace lay. Kris glanced back over her shoulder as Mittens nuzzled against him. “She’s a direwolf. Most people on the island just call them wolves, but I never saw no wolf get as big as they do.”

Jonathan straightened up, knees not taking kindly to the cold stone, and gave Mittens another scratch behind the triangular ears. He thought the creamy gold of her overcoat and the fluffy white of her belly seemed more at home on a family pet than on something like a wolf. Granted, he’d never done more than read about wolves, but he imagined they would come in a variety of earthy tones that blended in with their surroundings. Naturalism hadn’t been a hobby of his, if he was being honest.

“How long did it take her to get this big?” He couldn’t imagine a wolf taking long to mature. Kris shrugged and stirred a pot on the stove.

“About a year. She’s not too old yet, and from how big her parents were, I’d give it another year before she’s full grown.”

“This is a puppy? That’s what you’re telling me.” He stared down at Mittens as she trotted over to lay under the table, then looked back at Kris. “Is everything on this island gigantic?”

She snorted and, with a few scraping sounds, poured something from the pot into two mugs that were balanced a bit precariously on the edge of the stove. Once the cups were full, she put the pot down and held one of the cups out to him. The smell coming from them was at once sweet and comforting, though the color was a vaguely unsettling bright purple. Seeing his look of skepticism, Kris raised an eyebrow.

“It’s the same stuff I gave you on the mountain, just hot and less chunky. Tea doesn’t grow here, and it gets too cold at night for coffee beans. So, berries.” She took a drink of her own cup, as if trying to encourage him to trust it. The color it stained her mouth was not encouraging. “You can let it get cold if you want, but with all the things you’re gonna do today, you’re gonna want some heat in you.”

“Right, thank you.” Not wanting to seem rude over his reservations, he took the mug and peered into it before giving it an experimental sip. The drink, if he had to put a descriptor to it, was bracing. Any traces of sleep that still clung to his mind were pulled away, his heart sped up and his cheeks flushed with warmth. While the cold still gnawed at his feet and legs, it was much harder to recognize it as a _problem_ the more he drank. It was almost like taking a shot of brandy in one’s morning tea on a cold day without the sting. That being said, under the sweetness that coated his tongue before ebbing away with each drink, was a slight tartness that he presumed was responsible for his awareness. Kris seemed pleased with the fact he’d begun to drink the concoction, and turned back to her remaining pan. Not wanting to simply sit quietly, he cleared his throat. “What’s in this, if I may ask?”

She reached over and dug through the lower portions of a cupboard, retrieving a few odd colored eggs, and cracked them into the pan on the stove. She tossed the shells into a bin close by before answering. Jonathan took this moment to settle into the same chair he’d sat in last night, though it was much more obvious now just how uneven said chair was.

“Mejoberry, tintoberry, azulberry, and stimberry boiled in water with honey till it comes together.” A pause. “I’ll show you what those are after breakfast.”

Jonathan sipped his drink again, watching her drop a reasonably large slab of meat into the same pan as the eggs. From the smell it gave off, it was either cooking very quickly or was already partially done. He had to admit that, while he didn’t personally cook, he had to imagine you didn’t stick a knife into the pan and cut up the meat while it was in there. Assuredly you cut it before. That being said, he had no idea and commenting would most definitely be rude.

“I wanted to thank you again, for allowing me to stay with you. You did not have to do me this kindness.”

“That’s an interesting way to say ‘thanks for not throwing me off a mountain when I wouldn’t leave you alone’.” She chuckled and honestly she wasn’t wrong, though he did wonder if the resentment in her tone was genuine or simply there for show. “I don’t think you’ll like staying here that much, in all honesty.”

“Why not? It seems alright so far.”

There was a wet slap as she flipped the meat chunks over in the pan. It smelled very, very good. A bit of gnawing dryness pulled at the back of his throat, though he presumed it was from hunger as he kept sipping his drink. Kris stretched and turned around to face him, looking amused.

“First of all, I don’t usually do this much for breakfast. It’s usually bread and jam and then we’re off. This is special treatment for your first day on the Island.” Her joints popped as she moved around, pulling a pair of plates out of a drawer in one of her many cabinets. She blew some dust off the surface of one before putting them on the table. “Second of all, I’ve never met an Englishman that knew what a hard days work _was_.”

He tried rather hard to not look wounded by the remark, though he only really succeeded in pouting. “That’s a bit unfair, I swore I would work and I intend to keep my promise.”

“We’ll see, Joestar.” She returned to the stove and, using an odd set of tongs hanging on it, she pulled a loaf of bread out of the oven. Plopping it down in a basket on the table, she hurried back to the pan and gave it a stir. “Besides, we have to redo all my rationing because there’s two of us now. I’ve got to go hunting more to get enough food to make it up to one of the birds so I can teach you how to fly. I’ll have to teach you how to ride Today and Tomorrow, introduce you to Over-morrow--”

Kris interrupted herself to rush the sizzling pan over to the table and scrape the separate portions onto either plate. While she returned the pan to the stove and put out the powder burning inside, he looked over the meal. There appeared to have been potatoes in the pan ahead of the eggs, mashed up inside the protein. The strips and hunks of meat-- lamb if he had to guess from the look and smell-- were coated in the mixture and looked like it’d been seasoned as well. It definitely smelt like she’d seasoned it at some point, though he wasn’t sure when or what with. There were quite a few small scorched spots mixed in, but thankfully nothing about it seemed too far burnt. He did his best not to jump as she dropped a spoon/fork utensil into his plate.

“Right, you need that.” She dropped herself into a seat in the same way she’d dropped the utensil into his food, before pulling the loaf of bread in half and holding out one end. “I don’t know if you want it, but it’s half yours.”

“Thank you, truly.” She seemed amused again as he took it and tore a large bite into it. It was slightly over browned on the bottom, but the interior was soft and delicious. He surprised himself at how quickly he worked through the hot bread, and Kris snorted at his eagerness. He blushed at his horrible table manners. He’d never been particularly good with them, but he did try. “Sorry, it’s almost like I was starving--”

“You probably were.” Kris said flatly, and didn’t look up from busying herself with pulling the inner bread out of the crust and dropping it onto the plate, before stuffing as much of the meat/potato/egg mixture into the crust as possible. Once it was packed to her satisfaction, she looked back up to Jonathan’s puzzled face. She let a long sigh out through her nose before shifting uncomfortably. “When people get tossed onto the beach, or in the forest, or something, you don’t think about food for a bit. Your nerves are too strung out, you don’t know what’s happening. People don’t feel too hungry while they’re running scared, you know?”

He nodded as she took a thoughtful bite of her breakfast. No amount of manners stopped him from continuing his own meal while she talked, not that she looked bothered. If anything she seemed more concerned with how to put her words together.

“If you eat while you’re riled up, you’re going to make yourself sick. If you don’t get something in you after you’ve come down a bit, you’re going to make yourself sick. To balance this out, I supposed, most people that wash up on the island don’t feel the need to eat for a good while. It varies, of course-- if you land in the tundra you’re probably going to be starving soon because you’re going to work yourself to a breaking point to survive. If you land down south and the most you have to worry about is Dodos? You could probably spend a good twelve, eighteen hours before you get too hungry. That, or you’ll find berries pretty fast and it won’t be too big of an issue.” Another bite of her bread while she thought how to say the next part. Jonathan, for his part, was about half way through his portion and was finding it hard to focus off of the food now that he’d gotten something in him. He took another pull on his drink and tried to listen. “Now, that’s the accepted reason. If you asked someone from one of the Treemen territories, though, they’ll tell you its because of this thing.”

She held out her left arm, the metal diamond much duller than his, and the light ringing the inner diamond glinting orange. Jonathan nearly choked when, with a grim set to her mouth, she spread her fingers and the ring of orange lit up blue, a spread of light shining upward. About four inches above the diamond, a small rectangle with writing came together. She pointed at a list of numbers beside a scaled down image of herself, each section taking up half the field. She kindly waited for him to resume breathing before she continued, though she looked oddly amused as he looked between her arm and his.

“There used to be a doctor in the western territory, studied a whole lot about this stuff. You can see your temperature, the air temperature-- though it’s not really accurate if you have it under something and the rest of you isn’t. Tells you under these little numbers if you’ve been poisoned, if you’re ill, and if something’s injured and how so. Also tells you how much of anything you’re carrying and how close you are to over doing it.” She twitched a finger and the view shifted to a series of images. He could pick out the image of a campfire being kindled, another of what appeared to be a spear, some vessel containing a green liquid, and a series of saddles. She twitched again and a long chain of images scrolled up and out of view as she looked over them. These images were of animals, now, though he could hardly call these things real. He had no doubt, unfortunately, that they were. She took another deep breath. “You can remember things fine on your own, you don’t… lose anything, mentally if you don’t use it, but it keeps track of things you’ve learned since you got here. Sometimes crates with a design like this come down out of the sky and they have blueprints inside that don’t match the pictures. I make a point to read them all as best I can, but there are just some things I can’t do or understand. A new picture shows up whenever I figure something out, but I don’t know how it knows or why it does it.”

With a roll of her wrist, the light went out and she took another determined bite out of her food. Kris seemed to be reading his reaction, and looked a bit put off at how excited he looked. Jonathan had much too many questions to keep calmly eating after that, though he was very willing to try to do both.

“How-- how does it do this? I know you just said you don’t know, but there must be something! Is… is it monitoring us? How do _I_ do that?” He spread his fingers out and tried to will the light to come out, his eyebrows knitting together. The diamond flashed slightly before dimming again. “How does it know what you look like? How does it sense your clothing, or how heavy things are?”

Kris pushed the last bit of bread into her mouth and started working on what was left on her plate. She didn’t answer for a while, face clouding, and he made a noise suspiciously like a whine.

“Miss Kris--”

“Just call me Kris, Joestar.” Her face was a mix of troubled and amused.

“If we’re being informal, then please, call me Jojo.” She snorted at his earnestness, his eyes bright with the possibility of new knowledge.

“Alright, Jojo, here’s the thing. I don’t know. No one does.”

He gave her a look of doubt so deep that he even paused eating. She held up a hand.

“Look, all I know is this doctor out west found out that if you take out your implant, you die.” She let that sink in for a moment, watching him look between the reddened skin around his own diamond before glancing back to her healed up one. “Because of that, people leave it in. He figured it’s supposed to have some sort of vital purpose, like another body part you didn’t ask for. And because of _that_ , most people accept it as part of life and use it for like, keeping track of their supplies because it’s an automatic shorthand. Keeping notes on where they put things. Comparing what they know with someone else, so they can work together. Essential knowledge. See, that all makes sense, but it didn’t explain why there was such a learning curve to using the damn thing. Or why some people don’t even know it can light up till someone shows them. Or, really, why someone else could make your implant light up without you doing it. One of his associates, she decided that it probably has an effect on us more than just being a glorified metal notepad, because it’s not automatic. Like having whiskers helps a cat, even if people don’t understand what they’re used for. So, one day when I go in to buy medicine because one of my carno are sick, she asked me to take a look at people’s implants when I found them. See if they’re different later.”

Kris let a rush of air out through her nose as she finished off her plate of food. Jonathan nodded enthusiastically, taking in the information and waiting for more. He was as much happy about there being doctors about as he was that she knew what was going on, even if she seemed to be growing much more unsure as she continued. Her face drew in a bit and she drummed her fingers on the table as she thought through her words.

“So I did, and there’s a number in there for how thirsty and how hungry you are. It’s really low on the list, though, so you have to look for it. I imagine because people can usually figure that out for themselves. There’s also a number for how awake or tired you are. The number for that stays locked to full out while you land, and goes down while you wake up. The hunger and thirst numbers go down real slow while you’re out. Speeds up as you get going, but it takes a while. The doctor figured this meant these things put out some kind of-- the word she used was hormone, I think-- that makes you too damn slowed up to eat when you land.”

“What do you mean ‘while you land’? You said that before, as well-- ‘if you land in the tundra’ or ‘land on the beach’. I was under the impression I washed up into the swamp.”

He was cut off by the combination of a groan and sigh that came from her as she rubbed at her chin.

“Sorry, I just never actually got to explain any of this to someone who plans to stick around. Most people… well, they do their panic and I tell them where to go, and someone in a village tells them how shit works.” He wasn’t as reassured as he assumed she was trying to make him. Meanwhile she looked uncomfortable putting more words out about it. Kris shifted in her chair and sat up straighter. “See, you dropped out of the sky like God almighty flicked you off a cloud. Sometimes people get chucked out the ocean, but mostly they fall.”

“That… I’m sorry but that makes no sense? Whatsoever?” He wasn’t entirely enthused about the mental image of being dropped from on high, or about the possibility of Erina likewise being dropped into… whatever this place was. Speedwagon might have a rather good go of it, but it wouldn’t be enviable. All that aside, what in heavens name could get them into the sky in the first place and then choose where to drop them? He supposed a giant bird could do the job, but he very much doubted one was doing that with any regularity.

“Not much here makes sense.” She retrieved her mug and took a gulp, before leaning back in her chair. Kris rubbed at her chin again. “Rounding back to how hungry you were, though-- not much else keeps someone going out here aside of your basic needs. Your implant either made you real hungry because you hadn’t gone looking for food yet, or your stomach just realized that you hadn’t eaten in a while.”

Jonathan looked between her, the food, and the implant on his wrist.

“That was a very round about way to get to that point.”

She shrugged at his flat tone and put her dirty plate on the floor for Mittens to lick clean.

“I’m not a good talker, alright. There’s a reason I live in the middle of nowhere.” She propped her chin on her palm and frowned slightly. “Things here are strange, and they keep getting stranger. You either embrace it and accept the weirdness, or you go mad. It’s not my _favorite_ subject, these _things_ in our arms.”

“Well then,” He finished the last of his drink and piled more food onto his spork. The dryness in the back of his throat was growing instead of shrinking as he tried to clear his throat. “Perhaps we can round back to it later. We can focus on more palatable subjects, instead-- like what I’ll be learning first.”

Kris let out a relieved sigh, the faint smile returning to her face as she stood and stretched once more.

“Once you’re done eating, I’ll take you out to the yard and show you the different berries. Then we’ll see about getting you some clothes and weapons. You said you knew how to use a sword, right?”

He nodded and made an agreeable noise through his food as he continued.

“You know how to use a spear?”  
He shook his head slowly, and she nodded.

“Then today we’re starting with that.” She headed toward the door downstairs and paused part way down before poking her head back in. “And Jojo?”

“Yes?” Jonathan was trying to surreptitiously wipe his mouth and not having much success at it, mostly because he was attempting to use his sleeve. She looked amused again, though, and her smile twitched just a bit wider.

“Thanks for not trying to murder me.” He made an offended noise before she continued. “Keep it up and we might be friends.”

“ _What kind of people do you deal with?_ ”

She responded with laughter as she disappeared downstairs. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry not much happened this chapter but i wanted to get the explaining out of the way. Also it's passover so my focus has been in like 9 different directions


End file.
